I know That Starting Over is Not What Life's About
by jngan1
Summary: This is a series of vignettes and character studies exploring the depth of connection between Harvey and Mike and how they became to be. Mostly hurt/comfort. Sometimes shown in parallel sequences. Set in alternating timelines. Mike's still facing demons of his past. Harvey covers his with fast cars and luxury penthouses. Both need each other more than they're willing to admit.
1. Chapter 1

Harvey sits on the floor of his family's one bedroom apartment waiting for his father to come home. It's late and Harvey's had a long day but his routine remains the same: go to school with brother, come home with his brother, finish homework and look over his brother's, make dinner, tuck his brother to bed. It has been like this since his mother's absence 1 year ago and Harvey knows that he needs to be the extra parent to Marcus, knows that Marcus is too young to understand what a broken family meant so Harvey goes the extra mile to make sure he never does.

Harvey knows that his father has been working extra hard to make ends meet - playing his music in the tourist traps of Manhattan, living on tips and charity to raise his two boys. The utmost importance to him is to have a roof over their heads no matter the circumstance. The importance of a home, even a shitty apartment with peeling paint and thin walls in an even shitter neighborhood, is far better than a lot of folks in Brownsville.

It's only 9PM and Harvey's already had dinner with his brother but is still feeling hungry. He saves the rest of the angel hair pasta for his father. He hates being seventeen and growing.

After an hour practicing his debate for tomorrow, Harvey is slowly dozing off, but his slumber is quickly interrupted by a nightmare bubbling toward the surface. He hears a click on the door and his father walks in, smiling brightly him.

"You okay, kiddo?"

Harvey smiles a genuine smile. "What do you mean?"

His father chuckles and puts the leftover pasta to the microwave. "How was your day? You ready for your debate?"

"As much as I can be, yeah. I'm confident about this one. Mr. Kim won't know what hit him." Harvey's face brightens.

"You're gonna be a great lawyer someday, son". His father walks over tiredly with his food in tow and ruffles Harvey's hair before taking a seat at the couch. "Even if you're arguing against school detention. Go to bed."

Harvey gets up, smiling to himself, "Night, dad."

"Goodnight."

Harvey tiptoes slowly to the bedroom, not wanting to wake his brother. He slides his closet door open and takes out the suit he plans on wearing for tomorrow's debate. He looks at it fondly as if it was just yesterday his dad and he went to a thrift shop to pick it out. It was his dad's first recording session and he'd received complimentary studio hours through a friend of a friend who heard his music. _The way you look makes an impression on people, Harvey. You're always going to have an upper hand if you choose to._ That meant more to Harvey than was intended. It was no wonder his father always wore a three piece suit. Even between playing his saxophone and moving along the street, he never once gave way that he was any less than the people tipping him.

That was four years ago. Since then, his father had given him his favorite vintage suit for his debate competitions. It's a bit baggy, albiet loose around the shoulders, and heavily dated but Harvey loved it. Loved every inch and feel of that Christian Dior as if it were made for him. He didn't care what the other kids said about him. He wore a suit and it made him feel powerful, and important and most of all, worthy.

Despite his father not having a 9-5 job, they trudged along. And it was okay, really, because if his father was anything it was dedication and honest work. And Harvey had words – arguments that intimidated even the brightest of students. Harvey strived to be the best, knew he was the best. He'd worry about the logistics later. For now, he was happy with what he had. Content, while resourceful. He lived in a home with people who loved him, and, despite what he didn't have, he made the most of what he did. He slid into the jacket and wrapped himself around it.

* * *

_Trevor's father throws Mike into a dark room after he's finished with him, spits at him tells him to get out. He laughs, "oh look, a big rat and a small rat. Stupid rodents" Mike eyes the rat. The rat is sluggish and fat, probably due to all the garbage on the floor and daily feedings from Trevor. The rat is not quick to get away when the man steps on him, breaking its back. The rat lays on the floor, withdrawn and squeaking and the man walks away. Mike tries his best to hold back tears but it's too late. It's already streaming down his face. Mike breathes deeply before he snaps the rat's neck to put it out of its misery._

_It's been a year after his parents' passing and Mike is a lot stronger. But sometimes he still finds himself sobbing to sleep when he smells his mother's perfume. Or sees his dad in a crowd of shoppers during the holiday madness. He reminds himself that he's doing this for Trevor's sake, and that it'll be over soon. Trevor won't have to be afraid anymore._

* * *

It was nearing 9PM Friday when Harvey looked across his office to see Mike lying there in a pile of papers Harvey gave him about their newest case. Mike was a messy sleeper, his arms and legs splayed in every possible direction on the leather couch. Harvey took a sip of his scotch and began clearing up his desk. He'd let Mike sleep a little more. He knows that Mike works his ass off for Harvey and would do anything for him. It wasn't caring unless there were thoughts of health involved and Harvey would never justify it as such.

"No, no…NO. Don't touch me, don't touch…", Mike mumbled. His arms and legs once again changing directions.

Mike is having a nightmare. Harvey knew the kid had some demons to face but what he didn't know was the extent of it. He walked toward the couch and held a light but firm grip on Mike's shoulder, "Mike, wake up. Mike."

Mike opened his eyes and darted up, immediately looking at his surroundings, his eyes hollow. "Harvey, right. Sorry. I totally fell asleep and –"

"It's okay, Mike. We've both had a long day" Harvey comments. He looks worriedly at Mike but does not push it. He doesn't remember ever seeing Mike like unraveled.

Mike looked embarrassed, and for reasons Harvey couldn't decipher, he didn't want to push it. Mike busied himself getting the papers back in a pile and shoving the pens and highlighters into his messenger bag. With brute force, one might notice.

Harvey looked pensively at Mike and poured him a finger of scotch. Mike looked at him with a strange look that that said 'you never share your scotch' but took it all the same, downing the amber liquid until the burn wakes him up.

"Do you believe in souls or ghosts or the afterlife?" asked Mike.

"What kind of question is that?" Harvey replied, confused. He refilled Mike's empty glass with more scotch.

"The kind I ask on Friday nights when you're serving me drinks." Mike points to the scotch. "So, yeah, souls, ghosts?"

"I don't believe in the afterlife, if that's where you're getting at." Harvey replies. "I imagine that's not what you think though."

"If someone gets killed, they'll never cause harm or pain again but then... they don't get to suffer if there's no such thing as the afterlife. Isn't it better to torture? Why not make them suffer?"

"Why not let the law serve its purpose? If whoever you're referring to does something bad, gets caught, they'll get prosecuted and charged. Although in all likelihood, that is not always going to happen."

"Because the law doesn't always serve justice. Why do you think criminals and felons get out on good behavior? What justice does it serve when they take someone's life and gets treated with dignity and eventual release? They'll be out doing it again. And again. And they won't stop with rape, they'll take their humanity...keep them there as a trophy."

Harvey opened his mouth as if to speak, then drank the rest of his scotch. "Because that's what the law is, Mike. People can change. You of all people should know that."

"So this is a pragmatic concern then?"

Harvey rubs one eye with the palm of his hand. "Mike, what's going on here? Because if this is about the Stellnar case, you know that it's only rape if Lisa didn't consent to sex but she did and only blamed the alcohol clouding her judgement later. Our client is innocent, Mike. Where are you getting with this?" He knows that Mike is an emotional person, knows that he wears his heart on his sleeve but this behavior is strange. Beyond strange. Harvey even goes as far as to think that Mike only said all that to deflect the embarrassment from his nightmare earlier.

Mike smiles, his blue eyes shining amidst the darkness. "Nowhere. I'm drunk."

Harvey sighs and nods. He'll let it go this time. If Harvey is anything, he is a patient person. He knows that people have boundaries and he'll let Mike have this one. But he still plans to find out what's going on with his associate, whether Mike likes it or not.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_I tried my best to incorporate accurate timelines but it may be distorted at times!_

_Warnings: rating will go up as story progresses._

_This is my first multi-chapter fic that I've had the courage to share and I have a ton of ideas for this story. Please let me know what you think of it!_


	2. Chapter 2

October 19, 1990

* * *

_Mike takes out the kitchen knife he'd been hiding in his pants. He slips out quietly to the corner of the kitchen to see the drunken man wobbling around in his living room. He just had to wait for the man to lie down, and lose a bit of consciousness. He would eventually, and until he did, Mike would wait for him. He'll slip around quietly and kill the bastard. Mike pictured the man perched on his back steaming in his own filth while pissing a pool around his pants, struggling to breathe, choking. Taking his last breath. __It will be end of humiliation- no longer lingering home with a torn gaping asshole and blood streaming against the water, painfully blistering and scabbing. Trevor won't have to cry over Mike taking this for him because it won't fucking happen anymore. This was the only way. Mike was interrupted by his own reverie, thoughts flowing like musical notes. He huddled in the comfort knowing that it would be over soon, but he reminded himself there is no point in visualizing the dramatics until it was done._

* * *

Harvey was smiling as he picked Marcus up after school, full of nervous energy.

"HARVEY!" his brother ran over clinging onto him.

Harvey ruffled Marcus' hair. "I'm going out tonight okay? I want you to stay home and be good. I'll only be a couple of hours."

Crossing the street now. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going out with a couple of friends."

"Who's going to read my book to me?" Marcus asks.

"You're capable of reading it yourself, kid. I'll read to you tomorrow." Harvey pulls Marcus in closer as they slowly make their way home.

"No. Tonight, when you come back."

"Okay, fine. I'll read you a chapter" Harvey says.

"Three chapters."

Harvey rolls his eyes but smiles at the same time.

Marcus grins a toothy grin. They're both laughing and walking home and Harvey can't bear the thought of being away from him when his classes at the community college start.

* * *

_Mike was glad that Trevor's mother took them to Montana to visit her parents for a couple of weeks. Timing poised the perfect opportunity. Trevor doesn't know this and Mike plans to keep it from him. He'd argue against Mike taking the blame or living with the secret, but ultimately Mike is doing this for the both of them. Because he can't take anymore of this. Because Trevor's the closest thing he has to a brother and he will go to great lengths to protect them. Mike's eyes are wet and his hands are shaking in premeditation, but he's patient and willing to wait. The man should slip into unconsciousness soon._

_It was quick. As if conjured by his own concentration, the man appeared to be snoring lightly. Filthy fucking shit, Mike thought. He takes out the fish wire from his pocket and holds a stronger grip on the kitchen knife. It's now or never._

* * *

Harvey is freshly showered and dressed. Marcus is standing in front of the bathroom watching Harvey put on his watch.

"Okay kid, what are the rules again tonight?" Harvey asks.

"I know it already," says Marcus.

"I know you know. But that's not what I asked," Harvey responds simply.

Marcus jumps in circles as he speaks. "Lock the doors, do my homework, don't make noise, don't disturb the neighbors…"

"I'll only be a couple of hours okay? I'll be back before you know it and dad will be home too."

"Okay, then…. Bye Harvey," his brother says.

Harvey closes the door and locks it. When he arrives at the bar (fake ID in tow), he meets with Scottie and her boyfriend. The music is lounge-y and a bit awkward. Not what he expected but what would he know? He's 18 and he wants to be young and reckless like the rest of his peers.

* * *

_Mike walks lithely about and stood behind the man and, as if by a natural seething force, leans in and wraps the fish wire around the man's neck and pulls. The man chokes and struggles and Mike continues his fierce grip on the wire, never once letting go. The man is struggling and gagging and is trying to loosen the wire._

_Mike finds the courage to spit on him, "You listen to me, you miserable fucking pig. You listen to me very carefully. You are not to move or speak, otherwise I will make sure you suffer slowly to death. You are going to die regardless but I'm giving you an option to go quickly even though you deserve none of it."_

* * *

Scottie looks beautiful and Harvey's worried that he's being too transparent, that her boyfriend will see right through him. She talks to him about her classes at Columbia and rants about the course load she's currently taking. Harvey nods when appropriate but he's more interested in what's underneath her skirt and well, he will, in time, come to the conclusion that his implications were hazy at best. Tonight was about catching up, and drinking beers.

Harvey is ordering a 3rd round of beers for his friends when out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone he vaguely recognizes. He pays little attention until he hears the voice.

"Is that who I think it is? The trashy Specter boy, is it?" the voice behind him drawls.

Harvey turns the corner and sees the man. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and matching pants, eyes piercing like daggers as he looked at Harvey. Harvey quickly recognized him to be the man his mother left them for. Recognition quickly turned to anger when he thought about his father and brother. The million emotions he felt were only tempered by the beers he had. The hurt was still there, lurking, rising above his anger but he pushed it back down, willing himself to drown it out like its first tread to water to get his head straight. He wasn't going to let this man get to him.

"What the hell do you want?," Harvey asks, his face a mix of hurt and anger.

"You following me here, boy?" the man asks, his sharp features gritty and hard. Harvey gave him a hard look. His delayed reaction had nothing to do with the fact that his accusations were ludicrous but more of the fact that he was still looking for a fight even after all this time.

"Why the hell would I follow you here, you asshole?" Harvey retorted. And with that, Harvey tried to move around him. The man, James, he recalled, with sharp remembrance, catches Harvey by the throat and presses hard, pushing him onto the wall. Harvey tries to push him away, tries to let anyone see him, but the bar was too dark and busy on a Friday night for anyone to notice. Harvey continued to kick with as much force as he can, teeth bared, arms gripping at James' hands. He eventually kicks James in the stomach and the man crumples in pain. Harvey wondered why, of all the chance encounters, what the odds were of seeing him at this bar. It's been nearly two years since Harvey had last seen his mother.

"Your homeless bum of a father; tell him to stop calling Lily for money. Piece of shit," he spits, and walks off. Harvey stilled before he ran off, not even bothering to say goodbye to his friends.

* * *

_Mike is running as fast as he is able, his legs taking on a bigger stride than he was normally used to. There is a pain forming in his chest and he wasn't sure if it was the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his body or the guilt making him grow brittle with regret. Mike's pants are loosening as he runs and his hands make habit to hold them up. The air around him is chilly and he is not certain what will happen after this._

_He starts to feel sick and runs toward some bushes and vomits in them, panting hard and counting his footsteps as he struggles to stand. He suspects someone will find the man's body in there soon._

_He wishes for comfort. Normality. Mike curses himself for his own sake. His mother is dead, his father is dead, and now Trevor's father is also dead. He wishes so hard that maybe what he did was right, that this was the only way as his brain gave him no him other logical solution. But the moment is fleeting and Mike is scared, the realization hits him like a bullet train– he kicks himself and punches his face over and over until his nose bleeds, feeling the raw pain of being battered. He pictured the man lying on the couch, cold and dead. Mike hits himself harder, and clenches his stomach as if to protect himself from the dead man. The irony is not lost to him, but this is too much to comprehend and his adrenaline is in full speed. He's crying and can't maintain his composure._

_The man is dead. Death is setting him free._

* * *

Harvey is running as fast as he can, blood rushing into his ears as he remembers his mother's soothing voice cradling him in comfort when he was exhausted; his mother's laughing form as she bends over and kisses Harvey and Marcus. Her warmth and motherly love. His eyes are trickling with the promise of new tears, the remnants of alcohol slowing wearing off. He finally reaches the apartment and enters. His brother is fast asleep on the couch with the television on. Their father wouldn't be home for another two hours. Harvey walks quietly to their shared bedroom, locks the door and flops himself onto his bed face first in his pillow and lets himself go. Any shred of dignity is absent from his crying form as he clenches the pillow like a lifeline. He sobs desperately, clinging onto to whatever plea of absolution he could get. His pent-up anger turns him hysterical, sweeping him away like an angry ocean wave – unforgiving, unrelenting and far too strong. He sobbed for her as if she had died – her betrayal so strong Harvey found it hard to breathe, choking on his own saliva and when their family, struggling together in the perils of the economy, ripped away when he needed his mother the most. He is only 18 but everyone needs a mother. And for another minute and a half, Harvey cried against his pillow, relentlessly letting out all the pain he'd kept inside for the past two years.

* * *

_The local police deemed it as one of the strangest suicides they had ever seen. No sign of forced entry, no fingerprints on the knife other than the deceased, no suspected foul play. The crime scene was obscured by blood and had been a horrific sight even in Brooklyn. The coroner had announced later that Frank Evans had managed to inflict a significant amount of damage upon himself before his death - stabbed himself with an 8-inch carbon steel knife after a failed attempt to hang himself. There was a note - addressed to his wife and son - that a drug lord was after him for money and the only way his debt would be settled is this. They would come after his family if he didn't have the money. It was an ugly death._

* * *

Author's Note:

Their ages in this story correspond to the ages they are in RL. Mike was born in 1981, and Harvey 1972.  
For the sake of this fic, let's just pretend Mike is very strong for his age though it can likely happen through intense determination so... I don't know.

There is no significance in the italicization in Mike's POV- it was just simply to differentiate the two parallels. I probably don't have to do that going forward if it looks oddly placed. Please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions, I greatly welcome it!

I hope you've enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

It was 7:03 on a Saturday morning and the first hint of flurries had just begun to sting the skin of Harvey's cheeks with its small, icy flakes. The weather had been exceptionally unpredictable for days, with the quiet tension and ominous feel in the air. The promise of subtle morning sunshine prompted Harvey to leave his condo in favor of a steaming mug of artisan coffee. In its rarity, the peak of light was worth a trip to his favorite café before the first blizzard of winter came, more than likely the first of many.

Harvey resided in one of New York's nicer neighborhoods – the Upper East Side. His condo was the penthouse suite of a slate stone building, located about two and a half blocks from Central Park and around it many bustling cafes and coffee shops.

The bridge between the seasonal changes in New York would never be perfect. The peak in temperatures, the dips between the two extremes of winter and summer were common enough that throughout Harvey's life, there wasn't anything more beautiful than witnessing the beginning of autumn. The way the oak leaves changed colors as if they were hand painted, the air – crisp and fresh with its ripeness - and the coffee – ever so richer during the transition was like sunshine after a long shower.

As he sipped his espresso, Harvey felt himself relax for the first time since last night. The week had been rough – with an intellectual property case on the brim of closing, the start of a new contracts case, the 10 million dollar Levier merger and working with those asshole board of directors with an alternative contingency plan (Plan B) simultaneously was taking a toll on him, just a bit.

But his first thought before he left his condo this morning was Mike, _damn_ that kid. Harvey had barely made it halfway to the café before his mind started wondering what Mike was doing at this exact moment_. _The kid was always on the spectrum of both extremes – quick-witted genius and a persistent pest. He wondered if Mike slept at all last night. He's known his associate for a few months now and he was slowly etching his way underneath Harvey's skin. He quickly brushed that thought away.

The nuances of the espresso became more evident as Harvey sunk into the chair. The properly roasted flavor of the coffee bean was pleasant and sharp – the very contrast of the way he appreciated his caffeine. The thought of Mike however, took him out of his pensive state. He downed the rest of the espresso like a shot of liquor, ate the crema with his spoon and made his way back to the condo.

Mike awoke from his slumber in relative calmness but his throat felt parched and uncomfortable. He shivered slightly and touched his forehead. It was damp and sticky and he groaned at the apparent chill he felt against his slightly raised temperature. _Damn it, _Mike thought. He didn't have time to get sick. Not when there's so much work that needs to be done in the next few weeks. It was a calamity of sorts, always resonating in Mike's peripheral. There's always one thing or another that followed Mike, and he felt another chill creeping up on him. It was probably his life's punishment – his penance to reconcile for his past.

So Mike did the only logical thing to clear his headspace – run.

* * *

_Mike was glad his grandmother didn't give him any shit about graduating with a 4.0 GPA and not making any altering life plans. Perhaps she wanted him to make decisions based on what he wanted, or maybe she had a passive aggressive way of steering him in the right direction without saying a word. Either way, Mike was grateful for it and it made him feel like an adult. _

_Seventeen was an age that's neither here nor there. You're not legally an adult but you're no child. _

_Mike stayed behind to attend the local community college with Trevor. Trevor was a lot of things. He was equal parts trouble and arrogance, sharply manipulative and a childhood best friend who'd watch after Mike at his lowest points. When Mike was bullied on the first day of freshmen year, Trevor followed the kid home after school to teach him a lesson in bullying. Mike hadn't known about it and never questioned why Jason was absent for a week straight after that day. Jason never bothered Mike again._

_When Mike told Trevor in his junior year of high school that he may be bisexual, Trevor treated it as if it he discovered Mike was double jointed or something – not important, nor wrong. "If that's what you want, who cares." _

_Mike would theorize with Trevor on nights they couldn't sleep and talk about becoming the men they want to be. Do they want to be the sort of men who made a difference? Working in honest jobs? Be prolific? Keep their promises? It was the sort of lazy nights that kept them both calm in the company of each other. _

_When Mike turned 11, he received Confirmation into the Catholic Church – his grandmother had believed that would unite him closer to his parents, and give him the faith he didn't know he was searching for. Mike found it to be a strange experience – all of the other kids he knew that were confirmed were less like warriors of god, and more of spiritual couch potatoes. The experience had deepened Mike's curiosity for the ritual and, while he identified himself as more of the couch potato in a vague sense, he still found the militant ritual to be soothing during times of sadness and uncertainty. _

* * *

Mike's breath was labored as he ran past libraries he spent his youth in – reading stories of pain and triumph, magic and happily ever afters - receiving dog-eared copies of books given to him by Helen the Librarian. He'd read in solitude, often living vicariously through Maniac Magee, or Huckleberry Finn, the characters encompassing his life and giving him the hope of something bigger. Mike continued running, only stopping to catch his breath as his thoughts lingered through the vast emptiness of a rare New York morning. Mike in search of what he couldn't find – his piece of mind. Why is he so tense?

And then he found himself in the vicinity of Harvey Specter's neighborhood.

Harvey was consumed in the contract case when he heard a knock on his door. Surely he hadn't expected any visitors. He opened the door and saw Mike, out of breath but with a sharp look in his eye.

"Mike, what are you doing here?" Harvey asked.

"I was – "

Harvey cut him off. "More importantly, how'd you manage to get my address? Nevermind. Don't answer that question."

"Harvey, I was thinking, and I mean _really _thinking about that Sever case. I think we can get it dismissed."

Harvey made a gesture to let Mike in. Mike took off his ear buds and pocketed them.

"Alright hot shot. What do you suggest we do? This case was made for shit anyway because it _is _going to get dropped." Harvey said.

Mike sat in one of Harvey's bar stools, and Harvey stood next to him with his arms crossed.

"Woodland Park can't sue our client for nuisance" Mike said, "because how can Woodland Park differentiate what deliberate and what 'everyday noise' sounds like?" Mike asked, air quoting the last bit, "Besides, they have five small kids. It's a given."

"But if it's a violation of the terms on the lease, you know Woodland Park is going to go for the signed contract. It's in the print and they're tenacious bastards. They're suing a tenant, Mike. The Severs entered into the lease 6 months ago."

"…Which is why the doctrine of nuisance precludes an action in nuisance where the noise they're claiming to come from the Sever's could be from another apartment. AND, Woodland Park Properties had every opportunity to seek out the tenants they rented it to. It wasn't like they hid the fact that they had 5 kids in the initial rental application. But that's beside the point." Mike walked around to Harvey's couch. "I found something else. Woodland Properties was previously called Le Garden Pointe, and the owner of that property is the current owner's brother, Lee. Garden Pointe sued 5 of its tenants within the span of 10 years, all of whom have families with more than 3 kids and all of the families have a history of bad credit. And here's the kicker – they offered rental promotions to each of those families on the basis of need and eventually sued them all" Mike said, feeling proud of himself.

"And here I thought you wouldn't figure it out" Harvey commented while looking through another manila folder.

"You figured it out already?"

"I already have 2 former tenants willing to testify against Woodland Park" Harvey said, "and you know why?"

"Because if they've done it once, they'll do it again. Shit, Harvey. We're gonna bring down the wrath of God on them!"

"Not so fast, rookie. If we were able to figure this out so fast, they would cover all their avenues as well."

Mike noticed Harvey said 'we' instead of 'I'. "Wait, why did you need me on this when you already figured it all out?" Mike asked.

Harvey cleared his throat. "Because I need to make sure we're on the same page. Now that I know that you know, we can work on more important things like the Levier merger." He looks closely at Mike, "We'll worry about this on Monday. We're going to get this case dropped so we won't even need the other two to testify but we'll be ready for them if we need to be."

They continue working throughout the day in companionable silence. Harvey quite enjoys Mike's company though he does not admit to such a thing. Mike reminds him a lot of Marcus, in his bright mind and spirit.

They take a break and order Thai for dinner. Mike looks in Harvey's fridge to find them some beers. Mike looks disheveled now, grateful for the break. The concept of time is shot to hell when he's challenged by Harvey. Mike has no objection to that and wants to impress the older man, logistical concerns like breathing aside – not being in Harvey's presence is turning foreign.

The sun set hours ago as they share dinner. Mike's never been to Harvey's condo before and it was the first time he really took a hard look. Harvey's condo is dark, and inviting and masculine, with mahogany furniture and minimalistic stylings. The dim light cast throughout the condo is warm and homey, the vast open space in the company of toe to ceiling windows. The aura is of a privileged man, living in his expansive space, the city lights twinkling below him. There is the feel of the rich leather against their backs, and Mike silently wonders what his 700 thread count Egyptian sheets must feel like.

Mike's thoughts were disrupted as he finishes the last of his dinner and Harvey brings their plates into the kitchen and discards them in the sink. Harvey walks toward his record collection in such a lithe manner, Mike realizes this must be a ritual Harvey does in the evenings.

"What kind of music do you want?" Harvey asks.

Mike looks up quickly, a bit startled. "Uh, I-I don't care. Whatever you like."

"You must have some preference, Mike" Harvey says, his voice oozing with warmth and control.

"I really don't."

Harvey looked over to Mike and almost missed the slight tremor in Mike's body - his left arm willing his body to still. Harvey could tell that Mike's breathe hitched and his breathing became stifled. It was too easy to miss but Mike was holding a beer in right hand and the moving waves of the liquid in the bottle were tiny but unmistakable.

Harvey tries again, "You always seem to have an opinion in the office with Donna"

"Well, that's because Donna is awesome."

Mike maneuvers his body away from Harvey and curses himself for the lame answer. _Damn it. _

And then, as if the papers in front of him were suddenly pressing, Mike picked up the papers and looked at them with heavy concentration, "Harvey, what if we tricked the witness? Get him to admit that he knew about the cover up without him admitting it."

_Fair enough, _Harvey thought and came back to sit next to Mike. They continued working for another few hours. Mike was feeling rather tense, and Harvey saw the stress signs in Mike's body. Mike was still dressed in his running attire looking much younger than his years and certainly much more innocent than what life has thrown at him.

"How about we call it a day, Mike? You look like shit."

"But what about –"

"The numbers can wait. We'll dispose the witness on Monday. We'll work on this on Monday. We have a week to work on the due diligence."

Mike sighed slumped down on the leather couch, letting the rich leather envelope him. The merger had been taxing and the company's financials were less than solid in the past five years – records missing, a hole here, a hole there. There wouldn't be enough time in the week to figure out the mess.

Harvey brought out 2 more beers for them and Mike was grateful for the gesture. He was planning to go home but didn't mind having another beer with his boss. Harvey took a swig of his beer and flicked on the TV, leaving it on old reruns playing in the background.

"Seriously, Harvey. Law and Order?" Mike smirked, wistful but teasing.

"What can I say? I like fake lawyers," Harvey quipped back, his gaze intense. Mike felt his throat tighten at that statement but he knew Harvey didn't mean it like that… right? Subconsciously, it's blatantly obvious, at least to Mike, that Harvey was an 'international man of mystery', according to the firm's inner circle. And it wasn't lost on him that Donna frequently asked him, "blonde or brunette?" He's straight.

"Besides," Harvey speaks, "I defended the network on a copyright case a few years back. I do some consulting work for them every now and then."

Mike took another swig of his beer and gave Harvey a 'are you serious?' look. "Right. You got me. I don't like Law and Order."

"No, you don't like my record player or music." Harvey said, eyeing Mike speculatively.

Mike forced a laugh. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Just earlier, when I asked you what kind of music you wanted to hear, you looked like you saw a ghost."

Mike started feeling the heat rise up to his neck. He unconsciously tugged at the neck of his tee shirt, and chuckled nervously. "I have absolutely nothing against your music _or _your record player Harvey."

"Mike, I read people for a living. I don't know what it is but –"

"And it's killing you not to know right?" Mike interrupted. "Well, I'll have you know I actually _enjoy_ your music." Mike sounded honest.

"Okay. So you're saying if I go and play something right now, it won't bother you?" Harvey asked.

"That's correct" Mike answered, "go ahead. Knock yourself out."

Harvey walked to his record collection and placed a needle over the record. He was testing Mike and he knew it. He could tell there was an odd sense of urgency in Mike's voice – a sort of panic that rose when he willed Harvey for the go ahead. It's silly, Harvey doing this based on a hunch but it bothered him slightly – possibly more than slightly, and his curiosity was getting the better of him. Mike was surely on the defensive, annihilating any chance of Harvey being able to read him.

The music started playing – a soft jazzy tune mellow enough to sink into but still a hint of prickly at the edges – a melody so strong it exhibits a juxtaposition of familiarity, and loss. Of anger and helplessness – the very of core of a tune that carried all the correct elements to touch and shatter nerves.

And Mike felt it – lived in it – even for a mere half a minute, his calm exterior falling apart. As if he was bit, suddenly everything started to feel close together. _Too close. _Sweat was pooling around his head and he felt restless and uncomfortable, unable to catch his breath as if he was being pushed headfirst into water.

He snapped out of it for a second and looked around the room, and made quick eye contact with Harvey as he shot up from his seat.

"Michael -" Harvey started and took a few steps toward Mike.

"You're a real asshole, Harvey. I hope you know that." Mike said, and made his way out of the condo, slamming the door behind him.


End file.
